


Carefully, Carefully with the Plates

by Setari



Series: Sansûkh: The Appendices [21]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo is a Bad Influence, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Song Lyrics, Young Frodo Baggins, sansukh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the Sansukh-verse.</p><p>Frodo Baggins learns a very interesting song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carefully, Carefully with the Plates

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> Oh, look, I'm writing more Sansukh fanfic. What am I doing with my life? (Enjoying it, that's what.) Anyway, this was inspired by this little gem from the latest chapter of Sansukh:
> 
> _Legolas had not taken his eyes away from Gimli. The Dwarf’s boot struck the wood of the tree-root in time with the beat, and the bow skittered upon the strings. His fingers seemed too large and thick to move so quickly, dancing over the fingerboard as though by magic even as the melody shifted._
> 
> _“I know that one!” Pippin shouted, mid-step. “Merry, here – chip the glasses and crack the plaaaaaaaates-”_
> 
> _“Gimli!” Thorin gasped, appalled and amused all at once. He wondered how in Mahal’s name he was to explain this to Bilbo with a straight face._
> 
> _Yet Frodo’s small muted smile had actually grown into a laugh as the old washing-up song continued, bouncing along merrily, the squeeze-box hawing away. From the grateful look on Sam’s face, Gimli’s audacious choice had not gone unappreciated._
> 
> _“And it appears that you did not keep at least one secret, Bilbo,” he murmured, even as Merry attempted to juggle a pair of goblets. “Not if all these Shire-children know the song, and of our part in it.”_
> 
> -Sansukh, Chapter 42

Living at Bag End was still rather new to Frodo. Living with old Bilbo – Uncle Bilbo, maybe – was very strange, and not like anything he’d known before. Well, that wasn’t quite right. Bilbo was a hobbit, and lived like any other hobbit in the general sense of things. It was the shades and flavours that made it seem like such a strange thing, Frodo supposed. Bilbo was fond of secrets and stories, adventures and maps, in a way that most hobbits wouldn’t dream of, and it coloured everyday life in Bag End in subtle little ways.

Like suppertime, for example. Bilbo made supper at the same time everyone else in the Shire did, using the same kind of stove and the same kind of dishes. But where for other meals he seemed content to stick to the well-established – if extremely varied, they were _hobbits_ , after all – recipes handed down from parent to child for generations, for supper Bilbo served dishes Frodo had never seen before. He tried more new food in the first months living in Bag End than he had for the last decade or so.

A lot of the dishes he made seemed to bite back, leaving Frodo’s mouth burning long after he’d swallowed his mouthful, which took some getting used to. Still, it was flavourful and filling, and Frodo was soon eagerly asking for seconds. And sometimes thirds.

By the time half a year had gone by, Frodo felt like a proper connoisseur of spices and their various uses. It was even better when Merry and his parents came to stay for a week. The first evening Uncle Bilbo had invited the Gamgees from the down the lane as well, and the dining room was full. Frodo had helped Bilbo lay the table, and as they brought out the food, Uncle Bilbo had winked at him, a secret smile tugging at his lips. It made Frodo grin.

Watching Saradoc and Esmeralda and Hamfast and Bell – all adult hobbits with well-developed palates and a lifetime to have explored all the food they might like – gasp and exclaim and flutter their hands about over the food that Frodo had been sampling every evening and was presently scoffing with delight somehow made everything taste about three times better. The fact that Merry and the elder Gamgee children seemed to take that as a challenge, and spent the rest of the evening a little red-faced but stubbornly eating as much as their stomachs could hold despite the fact that their parents seemed dubious about the food was even better.

After supper, the adults all retired to one of the nicer drawing rooms, to smoke and gossip, and the kids were left to their own devices, while Frodo and Bilbo tidied up the dining room. Merry and Sam and Marigold were hanging about, mostly because the two youngest Gamgees seemed fascinated by him and his easy rapport with Frodo. For some reason, Marigold and Sam got a bit shy around Frodo, but he thought Merry might draw them out a bit, and Frodo thought that would be really nice.

Merry got quite involved in telling the story of how, of course, it had been all his doing, Frodo coming to stay with old Bilbo, there was a _wizard_ involved, didn’t you know? It was all very dramatic, and included Frodo actually managing to steal Gandalf’s hat, and a drawn out chase through startled party-goers. Marigold was wide-eyed as she soaked it all up, but Sam’s expression was scepictal and more than a little disgruntled.

“I was there and I don’t remember none of that.” Sam informed Merry.

Merry sniffed. “Well, of course not, it was probably after you left.”

Frodo shared a look with Uncle Bilbo, who looked like he was biting his cheek to keep from laughing or smiling too wide. They recruited the three of them to help carry things into the kitchen – another way in which Uncle Bilbo wasn’t quite like other hobbits. It wasn’t for guests to clean up, but where an adult might have been offended, the three kids just took it in stride, too distracted by their bickering about what had happened at Bilbo’s Yule party to protest as they carried wobbling stacks of plates into the kitchen.

Bilbo followed behind them with the leftovers of the roast duck, a bounce in his step that Frodo couldn’t help but notice and be entertained by as he came after, juggling empty and half-empty glasses in his arms. It looked almost as if Uncle Bilbo was listening to music, and sure enough, about a minute later, when Merry, Sam, and Marigold were sent back for the last of the dishes, Bilbo began to hum as he rolled up his sleeves and turned on the tap.

Frodo rolled up his own sleeves and went to fetch the pots and jars to keep the leftovers in for a midnight snack, finding his own movements shifting to match the rhythm of the song Bilbo was humming. It was a lively, bouncy little tune, short enough that after only a few repetitions, Frodo almost felt confident enough to join in. When they returned, and had put the plates down on the side, Merry actually started doing a little jig – uncoordinated and clumsy as it was – in time to the song. Frodo had to laugh at his young cousin, and he noticed with glee that Sam was snickering into his chubby little hand too.

“What is that song, Uncle Bilbo?” He asked curiously, caving to the urge to nibble the last little piece of rich, meaty quiche instead of putting it away like he should.

Bilbo startled, looking over his shoulder in incomprehension. “What?” He asked.

“That song you were humming, I don’t recognise it.” Frodo said, confused.

Uncle Bilbo flushed a little in embarrassment, laughing ruefully at himself. “Well, no, you wouldn’t, my boy.” He said, fond and amused and a little wistful in that way he only got when he talked – or avoided talking – about his adventure with the dwarves. “It was made up by some guests I had a while ago, and I dare say any a grown hobbit would be _horrified_ to hear it.”

Well. Frodo wasn’t going to let that go, now was he? That sounded like exactly the sort of thing he ought to know about. And if the sudden light in Merry’s eyes was anything to go by, he felt exactly the same. “Will you sing it for us, Uncle Bilbo? Please?” Frodo asked, doing his best to appear as angelic and doe-eyed as possible.

“Please, Mister Baggins?” Merry added, pulling a very similar expression, his voice high and sweet and pure.

Bilbo snorted at them both, clearly unimpressed by their attempts to sway him, but he was nodding, so Frodo counted it a win, despite the note to also work on his persuasive tactics. “Oh, alright, then, but I warn you, if you take this song as instructions of any sort, I shall be very cross.” He said, wagging his finger. Merry and Frodo exchanged a befuddled yet eager look, and nodded. Sam was a lot more reserved when he nodded, almost wary, and Marigold just looked a little awed.

With a sigh, Uncle Bilbo turned back to the washing up and started tapping his foot. He hummed a few bars to get the rhythm, then launched into the song.

_“Blunt the knives, bend the forks,_

_“Smash the bottles and burn the corks,_

_“Chip the glasses and crack the plates,_

_“That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_ ”

Frodo had a hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to contain his scandalised giggles. Merry had given up entirely, and was rolling on the floor, squeaking since he couldn’t get the breath for full on laughter. Sam was bug-eyed, and his mouth was open in shock, but also curling at the corners with the beginnings of a grin, and Marigold was hiding her face in Sam’s shirt, stamping her feet with excited mirth.

_“Cut the cloth, tread on the fat,_

_“Leave the bones on the bedroom mat,_

_“Pour the milk on the pantry floor,_

_“Splash the wine on every door!”_

It was only a few verses long, and once he got to the end, Uncle Bilbo simply started again, and by the time it came around for a third go, Frodo couldn’t help but join in, Merry close behind. Sam joined in on the next go, and Marigold the one after that. All of them kept on working to the beat, the chore that many fauntlings would do much to avoid suddenly a lot more fun when accompanied by such a scandalous and upbeat song.

_“Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl,_

_“Pound them up with a thumping pole,_

_“And when you’re finished, if any are whole,_

_“Send them down the hall to roll!”_

Once he was done with the leftovers, Frodo was set to work putting away the dishes that the other young ones had dried. He found himself all but dancing across the kitchen, doing a better jig than Merry had managed with his youth-clumsy limbs. It earned him a significant, stern look from Uncle Bilbo, at the stack of plates in his hands, but Frodo only grinned, confident and unrepentant, and set the plates – completely unharmed – in the cupboard.

Spinning away from the cupboard with a little shimmy, Frodo caught sight of the four other adults in the smial hovering in the doorway, horrified and confused and disapproving in varying amounts as they watched their children cavorting about the kitchen, singing at the top of their lungs as they dried the dishes. Bell Gamgee had actually hidden her face in her hands, and was peeking out between her fingers, leaving her expression hard to read. Hamfast’s mouth was slack, staring at his youngest son in utter disbelief. Saradoc looked torn between horror and helpless laughter, and Esmeralda was clearly composing a long, detailed, angry lecture in her head.

Frodo stared for a moment, the only one aware of the adults in the doorway for the moment, then shrugged and went to collect one of the large salad bowls off Merry. Merry caught sight of his parents as he handed the bowl over, and faltered, grinning nervously at the look on his mother’s face. With one of their number falling silent, Sam and Marigold looked around too, and trailed off uncertainly on seeing their parents.

Uncle Bilbo turned, feigning ignorance. “Oh, we’re almost done in here.” He told them politely. “Sorry about abducting the little ones, but they were so eager to help, I just couldn’t say no.” He added, which had Frodo hurriedly turning his back before he gave the game away and laughed at that blatant little bit of enticement. He put the salad bowl away and went to collect a handful of cutlery.

“That’s… alright?” Hamfast offered, sounding dazed.

Bilbo shook soap suds off his hands, then dried them on one of the dish towels. “While the little ones finish drying everything and putting it away, what do you say I go and fetch a cask of wine, and we crack it open?” He suggested.

“That sounds lovely.” Esmeralda sighed longingly, her voice strained and tight.

The issue soundly deflected with wine, the evening carried on as normal, until the sky was fully dark, and the Gamgees were insisting on getting home before it got any later, and Esmeralda was insisting that Merry ought to have been in bed an hour ago.

Frodo joined Uncle Bilbo at the door to wave the Gamgees off, giving Sam a grin and a wink as he left, and feeling very pleased indeed when the younger boy grinned shyly back. Marigold was yawning widely on Bell’s hip as she shook Bilbo’s hand, and they all wished each other a pleasant evening and tomorrow. Saradoc and Esmeralda were full of politeness about how nice it was to meet them, and hopes for furthering the acquaintance.

It was all very proper, and Frodo found to his surprise that it didn’t grate on him like it had when he stayed at Brandy Hall. Perhaps he could handle little moments of proper and polite after a day like today. Feeling more content than he could remember being for a very long time, Frodo stood at the door and waved as the Gamgees walked down the lane, becoming little more than darker shadows against the night. Just as he was about to close the door, he heard a slightly sleepy young voice – Daisy, he thought, but it could have been May – start to sing. Frodo was laughing to himself as he closed the door, which didn’t fully block out the growing chorus of childish voices even when it was firmly latched.

_“That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates,_

_“So carefully, carefully with the plates!”_


End file.
